"qissay mohabbat kay hain jo kitaabon mein."

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"YOU are getting married to the man of your choice and you're still sitting with a dead face, like seriously Iman, what's your problem?"

Shrilling voice of Sameera ricocheted off the walls of Iman's room and throbbed in her ears like that persistent ringing sound of a call one didn't want to pick―making her grimace and veer to her cousin with an incensed expression clouding her face.

"What's yours?" Iman gritted out. "Why do you almost look excited about it?"

The pale golden light sprinkling from the open window merged with the same-coloured interior of her room and illuminated the faces of the two females who were perched on the bed at the late hour of noon.

Sameera had―out of the blue―barged into her room a little while ago and hadn't shut up since then. Her cousin's buoyancy over her nikkah was also hard to stomach for Iman.

"Listen," Sameera said pointedly, narrowing her ebony eyes. "I don't know many guys who'd break into someone's house in the middle of the night with bruises all over their face just to meet their lover. I think it's pretty romantic."

Iman almost choked on air.

"Y-You saw him that night?" she gaped at her cousin in bafflement before sheepishly clarifying, "And please, I'm not his lover."

"This is why I don't like you, Iman," Sameera groaned, rolling her eyes. "Quit acting innocent all the time."

"I'm not." Iman leaned forward and hissed, "Everyone in the family now knows what actually happened that night."

"Well, everyone in the fam didn't see you lying on top of him in the room that night, did they?" Sameera quirked an impugned brow at her.

Upon the reminder of that specific moment, Iman's cheeks heated up and her frame flinched back as she averted her gaze and stuttered, "It w-was an ac-cident-"

"I don't need any justification, it's alright." Sameera waved a hand of indifference. "I haven't even told anyone about it."

Iman puffed out a frustrated breath as her head tilted back and she sewed her eyes shut, giving up on convincing her cousin because she knew Sameera only believed what she saw and unfortunately, she had seen them in that compromising position-

Iman shook her head to shake off the image that was so eager to flash in her mind.

"Wesay, I could've never imagined that guy would turn out to be a police officer... and have Haider arrested." Sameera's bitter voice made Iman peal her eyes open and her gaze descended on her scowling face.

Iman gazed at her with a blank expression but mentally rolled her eyes at how Sameera had easily accepted Zain being a cop but refused to believe he was not her lover.

"But I can forgive him for that because Haider easily got released in just a day," Sameera stated with an impressed smirk.

"How benign of you, Sameera." Iman gave her a sardonic smile.

"Whatever," Sameera mouthed. "Now at least go and fix your appearance. Do you want to look like a corpse bride in front of your groom?"

Iman narrowed her eyes but kept her lips sealed―but Sameera didn't stop there and opened her big mouth again.

"I mean, yeah that cop is kinda handsome but obviously he doesn't hold a candle to Haider's good looks," Sameera stated coolly.

At that, Iman's jaw clenched and her gaze morphed into a glare as she abruptly scrambled to her feet.

"This is why I don't like you, Sameera," she echoed what her cousin had said earlier.

"Glad to know we share the same feelings," Sameera snickered. "Now please go and at least change your clothes."

Iman shook her head and pulled a deep breath―reluctantly dragging herself toward the closet and shuffling through the clothes hung inside before finally picking out one.

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A gust of wintry wind blew on Zain's face---making the dark lock of hair gracing his forehead sway---as he hopped out of the car and stood inside the Bakhtiyar mansion.

The evening sky over his head was a stark reflection of Iman's eyes―a vast stream of grey clouds sailing smoothly and covering the sun. The light was the faintest of colour and a dim haze had enveloped the surroundings, creating a soft and dreamy ambience as he began footing ahead.

To the woman of his dreams.

Zain―trekking along with Saif―watched Ashfaq Bakhtiyar greeting his parents ahead, especially his father, with utmost courtesy and a welcoming smile.

As he approached the entrance of the house and stood right in front of the old man, his six-foot frame easily towered over Ashfaq Bakhtiyar's middling stature―commanding his attention and making his gaze swivel to him.

Raking Zain with his shrewd eyes and a poisonous smile hanging on his lips, the old man hissed, "Aiyye, Inspector Sahab."

A scoff fled his mouth. "Should've called me that when I came to your house for the first time. I'm not here as a cop today, sasur ji," Zain stressed on the title, seasoning it with a sour smile.

Ashfaq Bakhtiyar hummed with a mocking purse of his lips.

"That day, you tried to teach me how I should treat my daughter but you forgot that you're supposed to learn from elders, not teach them." A triumphant sneer lit his gaunt features, "I hope you're ready to face the consequences of your actions and take this responsibility, son-in-law."

Zain wanted to laugh loudly at the oblivion of this old man who was thinking he had turned the tables on him.

"Age has nothing to do with that, young people can also teach many things to older people," Zain vocalised in a calm voice and then added, "And I'm ready to take this responsibility with all my heart, don't worry about that."

Disappointed lines appeared between the old man's faded brows as he raked Zain with his stormy eyes for a second before turning around and ambling inside.

Zain veered to Saif who was standing on his left with his arms crossed over his broad chest and jawbones bobbing as he chewed the gum in his mouth―thoroughly amused by the verbal exchange he witnessed.

Zain chuckled lightly at his friend's expression. Before they could venture inside, a tall boy with singularly acute features and earthy brown eyes shining behind the glasses resting on his nose―clad in a royal blue kurta shalwar ―appeared in front of them.

"Assalam o alikum," the boy greeted in a polite voice.

"Omer?" Zain hoisted a brow.

He nodded―lips curving into a warm and genuine smile that made Zain regard him with the same expression as he rolled out his hand to shake his.

"Sorry for stealing your car that night yaar," Zain stated in a candid tone.

Omer's jaw loosened at the brusque avowal and he blinked owlishly at him before clearing his throat and mouthing, "It's... it's okay, Zain bhai."

"Did you get it back?" Zain queried. Last week, he had told one of his subordinates to deliver that dead vehicle he had left stranded on the road to the Bakhtiyar residence.

"Yeah, I did," Omer mumbled. "It's currently at a repair shop because it had a bunch of dents and..." he gulped before completing the sentence, "and bullet holes."

Zain moistened his lips. "What can I say, it was quite a... dangerous night."

"I know," Omer replied and then, to clear the awkward air, he blurted out, "Bajjo told me how you saved her life that night."

"Bajjo?" Zain iterated, lifting an amused brow. "That's cute."

Omer smiled shyly―inwardly appreciating the laid-back presence of the man in front of him because his sister really needed someone like him in her life.

Before the conversation could continue or he could invite him inside, Omer noticed a male figure bearing resemblance to Zain―barring his hazel eyes―rushing towards them and planting himself next to the lawman.

"Arsal, where were you guys?" Zain inquired.

"Sorry, we kinda got... lost," Arsal said, wetting his lips after delivering the lie.

"But you were right behind us?" Zain asked with a dubious frown but before the latter could open his mouth to reply, he halted him with a wave of his hand. "Anyway, it's alright. Where's Zuny?"

"She is..." Arsal trailed and took a step back, pointing his hand outside, "there."

As the hazel-eyed man swivelled to the side, unearthing the view ahead, Omer's gaze descended straight onto the female figure treading towards the entrance with an ostentatious gait he was used to seeing every day.

And loathed seeing it every day.

The more she got closer, the faster the flames of spite coiled in his veins as his eyes imbibed the ivory-encompassed frame of his classmate.

Zunyra.

Omer shut his eyes almost in pain as if burned by the view.

With her lips set into a tight line and a hardened look shadowing her traits, Zunyra halted next to Zain who graced her with a warm, homely smile before turning towards Omer―causing him to open his eyes and brace the catastrophe in front of him.

"Omer, meet my siblings; Arsal and Zunyra," Zain introduced, beckoning to the duo with his hands.

And Omer's hands clenched into a tight fist upon hearing that.

Arsal leapt forward and extended out his hand with an enthusiastic smile and Omer quickly uncurled his fingers―shaking his hand with a forced spread of his own lips.

Stepping back after that, he regarded Zunyra with a cold glance―who was busy looking here and there and everywhere but at him, making her struggle to not meet his gaze pretty obvious.

Heaving a long-drawn sigh, Omer invited the Awans inside the house and led them to a grandiose room dominated by a classic combination of faint champagne gold, beige and ivory interior.

The majestic columns, outrè arches and creative wall design exuded a regal charm while the large windows on either side provided a glimpse of the garden outside. Dark shaded seating arrangement and decor on both sides of the room contrasted against the crystal white marbled flooring but the most outstanding detail was the skylight glazing framed into the ceiling that gave a stunning view of the sky.

And the Awans couldn't help but appreciate the beauty of the place as they settled on the comfortable sofas.

Barely a few minutes had passed when Zunyra's phone suddenly vibrated in her hand. She looked at the screen glowing with the caller ID: Sohaib. Leaping to her feet, she waddled out of the room and leaned against one of the columns in the long, stretching corridor as she attended the call.

After apprising the caller of where she was and conversing with him for a minute, she disconnected the call and whirled around to crawl back inside but just then, a deep and rich voice resonated around and stopped her in her tracks.

"Zunyra... Awan."

Drawing a breath of ire and narrowing her eyes, she spun around and came across the lithe frame of Omer Bakhtiyar ploughed before her―his eyes shining with derision.

She weaved her arms across her chest and countered his mocking stare with her noxious gaze.

"What did you tell me the other day?" Omer put his hand on the side of his jaw, feigning a pondering look. "Ah yes, that you can't pity the guy who ran away with my sister enough. Well turns out he's none other than your brother," he shoved a blistering, tight-lipped smile at her, "Such a small world."

Zunyra gritted her teeth―her hands aching to wipe that sassy smile off his infuriatingly attractive face.

"Should I offer my commiserations?" Omer spoke again, giving her a taste of her own words. "Because you must be having a rough time."

Indignation scorched her insides but she held onto her composure―not wanting to give him the satisfaction of getting on her nerves because that was her job. She loved pushing his buttons and getting a reaction out of him by her teasing remarks―not the other way around.

Taking a step toward him, she jutted her chin and peering right into his orbs, she hissed out, "Having a great time, aren't you Omer?"

"Honestly, I'd have preferred if my assumption had remained an assumption only," he intoned, earning a quizzical frown from the brunette.

Omer recalled the moment when Zain had shown up at his house for the first time and had announced his name―his mind had momentarily drifted to his classmate who bore the same surname but at that time, he had shaken it off as just an inference.

"When I heard your brother's name for the first time, I told myself that him being an Awan doesn't mean he is related to you but unfortunately, he is." Omer expressed in a steady voice.

"Then why don't you look as unhappy as you should by this information?" Zunyra asked―tone fraught with bitterness.

"I am," Omer stressed, "but only with the him-being-your-brother bit. He's a very nice guy so I don't have any problem with this marriage."

"But I do dammit!" Zunyra whisper-yelled―her eyes burning in antagonism. "I can't fucking believe mere bhai ko pooray sheher mein, balkay poori dunya mein, yehi ghar aur yehi larki mili thi apni zindagi tabah karne kay liye."

"Not a word about my sister, Zunyra!" Omer snapped a finger in her direction and warned in a glowering tone.

"Oh, how protective," she scoffed dryly. "Your sister should've been thankful to my brother for saving her from a forced marriage but instead, she became a yoke around his neck!"

"You are crossing the line now," Omer mouthed through clenched teeth, glaring her down as raw anger flashed in the earthy realm of his eyes.

And that's when a smile pulled at her plump lips. That was more like the Omer she knew. Taunts and jibes didn't suit him.

"That's what I am best at, you should know by now." Zunyra titled her head with a lopsided grin.

"Go to hell," Omer bit out, averting his gaze and preferring to look at anything but her.

The brunette chuckled. "Where do you think I'm standing right now?"

His brown gaze returned to her, hard and fatal, but before he could open his mouth to say something, a masculine voice calling out his name seized his attention.

Omer veered his head and his eyes noticed his older brother standing near the staircase and staring at him with a questioning frown.

Before walking away, Omer let his charring gaze rake the girl in front of him as he mumbled, "Well then I hope you enjoy your stay."

And then he swivelled and raved toward his brother, making Zunyra burn holes in his back with her eyes before spinning around with a huff and strutting back into the grand hall to join her family.

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The deepening of evening made the daylight wane into dusk and finally brought the moment Zain had been silently and patiently coveting.

The sound of soft and cautious footsteps reached his aural and his lowered gaze slowly streamed up and fell on the beauty he had fallen for.

Iman entered the hall and everything slowly faded away for Zain as his eyes settled on her.

Just her. Only her.

The music of her presence crooned in his ears and drowned out all the voices and hums of the people present there and he felt like a spell had been cast over his senses.

And spellbound he truly was.

His frame rose from the sofa and so did the beat of his heart as his eyes absorbed her exquisitely simple appearance.

Her slender frame was encompassed in a aasmaani peshwas with a very faint line of silver embellishment. The net veil bordered with mirror work rested on her head and gave a glimpse of her beautiful black hair loosely pinned back.

No jewellery graced her rose beige skin except for the tiny silver baaliyan dangling from her ears; no pigment shimmered on her seraphic face.

It was just her encompassed in hues of heaven―looking nothing less than a hoor of heaven to him.

His burning gaze traced the outline of downcast eyes―her jhuki nazar―streamed down the dark tendrils of her hair framing the sides of her cheeks; embraced the moles and specks across her face and the shadows under her eyes.

As the distance between them started shrinking with each step she took; the awe and love and longing mounted in his heart and seared in his eyes.

And Iman felt it.

She felt the intensity of a dark and piercing gaze on her, making her eyelashes sweep up as she let her grey gaze linger over the pristine presence of the man standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by a bunch of people and still managing to stand out.

Her heart jumped in her chest when her gaze skimmed over his frame clad in a traditional dress and she couldn't suppress the spark of admiration that crept into her eyes for a beat of a moment.

She quickly ducked her head and lowered her lashes―not wanting to be caught by the lawman.

Swallowing down her sprinting heart, she swerved to the side with Sameera walking alongside her and said salam to his parents, noticing two new faces she concluded were Zain's siblings.

Iman quietly moseyed toward a settee on the other side and her stiff frame sunk down, head bowed and eyes attached to the floor.

She couldn't believe she was sitting in the space with him. Her house―the same place where they had parted ways and today, they were going to tie the knot here.

Before she could mull over the surrealness of the events, the nikkah khawan―solemnizer of marriage―entered inside, stilling the chattering of people present there as he sat beside the groom and began the marriage procession.

That was the moment when Zain felt a euphoric feeling tingling his soul and the rising beat of his heart as his mind recalled all the moments that had led him here.

They weren't just mere coincidences.

From the moment he had met Iman, he had felt like there was an invisible, magical cord that kept pulling and pulling him toward her; didn't break even when he walked away from her and kept him connected to her.

It wasn't invisible anymore. He could see the destiny-coloured string between them―linking his soul to hers and tying their fates.

He was meant to be here, by her side.

She was meant to be his.

They were meant to unite.

So, when the officiant asked him for his acceptance, he declared in a firm, tender and numinous voice, "Qubool hai."

As everyone raised their hands for dua, his heart murmured a prayer of gratefulness to Allah for listening to his deepest desire―that he hadn't even dared to voice out loud―and fulfilling it.

The attention then shifted toward the bride as the officiant, along with the men of her family, moved toward her.

A cold shiver of anxiousness suddenly crisped her skin and her heart started flapping wildly in her ribcage as the men stopped ahead and circled her perched frame.

Her chest tightened as a number of emotions assailed her―the pain of her father's oppression, the remorse of that night when she took that drastic step and the guilt of forcing the burden of her existence on Zain.

Pain. Remorse. Guilt.

Her breath quickened as she slowly slipped into the quagmire of her own emotions and cold beads of sweat trickled down her skin as she felt the unbearable weight of the gaze of the people present there.

The floor she had her eyes attached to started spinning and she felt like she desperately needed something to lean on.

That's when she lifted her head and her wide, anxious gaze collided with the man sitting across the room―his black eyes already resting on her face.

She looked at Zain; stared into his deep and dark orbs.

They were patient, calm and warm.

Free of any complaints, demands and expectations.

And somehow, the thundering palpitations of her heart gradually soothed down as the black and grey remained entwined. The calm in his eyes calmed the chaotic thoughts inside of her and the warmth seeped into her soul―melting the icicles of anguish.

Time held its breath as his gaze held her and she slowly regained her composure.

At that moment, in that fleeting yet everlasting moment, his presence was soothing, assuring and...

and liberating.

So, she clung onto that feeling when the officiant asked her if she accepted the Nikkah and with a downward sweep of her eyelashes, the words flew out of the confines of her lips and soared in the air, "Qubool hai."

Iman couldn't see the lovely smile of contentment that transitioned on Zain's lips as he watched her lower her head and clutch the pen in her hands to sign the marriage agreement.

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After the procession of nikkah was completed, the Awans were invited and led toward the dining hall by Ashfaq Bakhtiyar who insisted that they had dinner with them.

Zain wanted to scoff at the faux show of hospitality that the old man was displaying to probably impress his father because he could clearly see in his granite eyes that he couldn't wait to send his daughter off with them.

He took languid strides to the dining area tied with the lounge in an open space where a sprawling table was set up with several velvet upholstered chairs around it.

He lazily plopped down on one of the vacant chairs, sorely uninterested in the food because he was already full.

With joy.

His wandering gaze suddenly spotted Iman trudging along with her cousin toward the dining table and he trailed her tentatively moving silhouette until her cousin suddenly grabbed her arm and started pulling her to where he sat.

"You should sit here, Iman." Sameera pressed her stiffened shoulders and made her frame drop onto the chair right next to Zain.

Eyes widened and jaw hanging loose, Iman cast a look of disbelief to her cousin who, without sparing her a glance, padded forward.

But Zain caught the 'you-are-welcome' look Sameera threw at him as she passed by them, leaving the couple sitting close to each other.

Iman swallowed, keeping her gaze locked on her awkwardly fidgeting fingers as her heart raced in her chest.

And seated right beside her, Zain bit down on his lips and stared ahead―feeling the heat of the flame that smouldered in the small space between their shoulders.

The world around them continued to move; the servants carefully bedecked the table with a variety of dishes; the chattering of his siblings along with the seasoning aroma of the national cuisine saturated the air―but the couple sat next to each other, wrapped in their own thick bubble of silence.

Until his silky baritone ruptured it.

"Kesi ho?"

Her head slowly rose and swung in his direction, gaze meeting the flawlessly sculpted profile of his face as he was looking straight ahead―and not at her.

She let her stormy irises linger over his features for a moment before her lips parted and she breathed out, "Tum kesay ho?"

At that, his head turned to her and their eyes met―causing Iman's breath to halt in the cave of her throat.

"Ab theek hoon," he replied with a satiny smile that directly touched the chords of her heart.

Their eyes remained locked for a few fervent seconds before the contact broke by the loud voice of Omer.

"Bajjo." Her brother stopped before her, tugging her attention and making her look up.

Omer placed his hand on the table and bent down slightly with a look of concern soaking his traits. "You haven't eaten anything all day so please make sure to eat something."

He sauntered forward after delivering the reminder and the family members slowly started filling the seats across the dining table.

"What did he just say? You haven't eaten anything?" Zain's guttural voice feathered her ears and made her head swivel to his side.

"I am not hungry," she murmured weakly.

She noticed the furrowing of his dark brows and a sharp exhale of breath before his hand moved and he scooped some steaming pulao from the tray and filled the ceramic plate placed on the table―topping it off with salad and raita.

And then he slid the plate toward Iman.

"Eat," Zain instructed.

Iman blinked at him. "I said I am not hungry."

"Iman." He leaned to her side and an electrifying chill ran down her spine as their shoulders touched. "If you don't want me to spoon-feed you in front of everyone then you better start eating right now."

She gawped at him for a second and the staidness contouring his face left no room for doubt that he most definitely would do that.

Puckering her lips into a small pout, she averted her gaze and picked up a spoon from the table, pushing a morsel of rice onto it and shoved it in her mouth.

While Zain leaned back and straightened his neck with a small smile floating on his lips that quickly vanished when he spotted Saif and Arsal sitting across the table, regarding him with teasing grins.

Clearing his throat, he directed his attention to the majestic chandelier hanging above, endeavouring to keep it pinned there but his irises hopelessly wandered back to the woman perched beside him.

He was watching her taking slow and reluctant bites when a masculine figure passed behind them, uttering a slew of words that made the blood in his veins simmer up in rage.

"Ham sab ka sukoon or chain kha kar aaram se khana kha rahi hai, begairat!"

The movement of Iman's hand halted when Amir's harmful voice stung her ears and the spoon slipped from her hand as her throat clogged with a lump of woe.

Her head was bowed, so she couldn't see how the muscles in Zain's jaw pulsated with unalloyed rage; how his hand tightly curled around the fork placed on the table; how his head turned to the left as his homicidal glare tailed the walking figure of her brother before he disappeared in the distance.

Zain pulled in a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves but the more he looked at Iman's frozen frame beside him and how she didn't even dare to touch the food after that and just sat there with a sullen face throughout the whole dinner only made his anger crest.

When Zain walked back into the lounge with his family after the so-called dinner was over, his raven gaze scoured the surrounding in search of a particular fuckface and when he spotted him at the far end of the lounge, he strode toward him.

Stopping in front of him and hovering over his intolerable frame, Zain gritted out in a rough voice, "Zubaan kuch zyda hee nahi chalti aapki?"

Momentarily surprised by the sudden appearance, Amir Bakhtiyar's head snapped up and a scowl marred his traits when his eyes fell upon the cop.

"Kyun, tumhe koi takleef hai?" Amir retorted―squaring his shoulders in a haughty manner and levelling up to him.

"Haan hai," Zain rapped curtly and then taking a menacing step forward, he spoke again, "Aur agar aap chahte hain kay main apko koi takleef na doon, then control your damn tongue when you're talking to or about my wife!"

The tone he used to deliver the warning was not ordinary; it was the one he used inside the dark and cold interrogation room to make suspected criminals confess their crimes; to get information out of them; to crumble their defences.

It was ominously low, calm and chilling.

Placing a cold hand on her brother's shoulder, Zain peered right into his eyes, "Get it? Salay," he took a voluntary pause and clamped his shoulder with his steely fingers, "sahab."

Normally, Amir would've retaliated with an aggressive remark but at that moment, the lawman's bleak disposition and his grip, both seemed to weigh him down and didn't let him vocalise anything.

Amir's only response was yanking that callous hand off his shoulder and swerving around to get away from that bastard who looked anything but sane at that time.

Zain quietly watched him scurrying away and when he was out of his sight, he blinked and pulled a sharp intake of breath before trudging back to his family and silently standing next to Arsal as he noticed his father was involved in a conversation with Ashfaq Bakhtiyar.

After a few minutes, the Inspector General asked Iman to meet her family and bid them farewell as it was finally time to leave.

Iman's immediate action was drifting toward her younger brother who enveloped her in a tight hug.

"Love you, bajjo," Omer whispered under his breath so the sound was audible to his sister only and when they parted, he could see a transient smile softening her features.

She was going to miss Omer and she knew that he was the only person who was going to feel her absence as well.

Iman looked around to find her older brother but he was nowhere in sight so after reluctantly meeting her cousin and phuppho, her heavy legs carried her toward the person whose affection and attention she has craved all her life.

Her tensed form stopped before her father whose visage was as steely as his eyes and Iman knew he had nothing to offer her but hatred.

She knew she was never going to receive even a glance of love from her father but she didn't want to leave without saying anything to him.

"Baba jaan," she mouthed pleadingly. "I'm sorry."

Her father's eyes narrowed but the sternness on his face remained intact. "I'll never forget the humiliation I had to face because of you Iman and that's why," he took a choking pause, "I'll never forgive you."

Iman's vision floored with a hot river of tears that pooled in her eyes as her heart twisted painfully in her bosom at his words.

She moved forward to make another desperate―and hopeless―attempt to melt her father's rigid exterior and opened her mouth but before she could say anything, a large, manly hand suddenly wrapped around her wrist.

As she swung her head to the right, Zain dominated her line of vision as he appeared next to her.

"That's enough, Iman," he stated―his dark eyes entwining with her rheumy ones and then slowly, his hand slid down and his fingers enclosed around her palm.

"Let's go home," he said with a gentle squeeze and all the veins in her hands leading to her heart carried the warmth of his touch.

And then his body turned as he looked towards the exit and his frame moved ahead―her arm feeling a light tug. Before she knew it, her own body fully swerved toward him.

His virile hand that wielded dangerous weapons felt exceptionally soft, compassionate and safe wrapped around her small, dainty one.

She didn't know if it was because she didn't want to let go of that feeling of security or because she didn't want to break the warm contact between them but her feet started moving and she followed him.

And Zain, without giving a damn about any parting etiquettes, without caring about the disapproving glare that his father shot him―held her hand in a firm grip and strode out of the Bakhtiyar mansion with his bride.

As the couple crossed the threshold and appeared in the outdoor entryway, Iman who was a step behind him, drifted near him and their steps aligned. So rhythmically aligned.

They walked together, unaware of the rare planetary alignment of six celestial bodies in the sky over their heads―that only occurred once in decades―stretching in a diagonal shape with earth's crescent moon glowing in the centre.

Zain opened the car's door for her and when her frame settled on the seat, he paraded to the other side and waited for his family to come out.

In just a few minutes, the Awans emerged out of the building and filled the seats of the two vehicles. The engines roared to life and the xenon headlights illuminated the surroundings as they whooshed through the unfurled gates of the mansion.

Before the security guards posted on either side of the stately iron-wrought gates could fasten them, a metallic grey civic zinged through the street and halted ahead of the abode.

The sheeny door clicked open and Haider swept out of the vehicle, garbed in a brown checkered three-piece suit that perfectly fitted his princely frame―giving off an impression that he had just returned from a formal event.

His head snapped to the left side as his onyx irises tailed a particular hilux driving away in the distance and his brows fused into a curious frown when he noticed a green, official number plate attached to it.

The car soon faded into the distance but the flame of curiosity flared in Haider's mind and an uneasy feeling stirred in his gut as he strode toward the Bakhtiyar residence.

"Why was the IG's car here?" he enquired one of the guards present there with a sharply arched brow.

No reply came as the man in front of him kept his mouth clamped but before Haider could storm inside and directly question Ashfaq Bakhtiyar, the younger guard came forward and informed him in a meagre, careful voice;

"It was Iman baji's nikkah today with his son, Haider sahab. That's what his family was here for."

Haider's breath hitched.

All the nerves in his body compressed and his eyes spanned wide as he staggered back.

He felt like someone had shot him in the chest.

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A/n: Fraaaands, aajka *GHAM HOUR* Haider kay naam!!!!

Are you guys happy now? I got Iman and Zain married and broke my favourite character AKA my Haider's heart. ugh, brb crying with him.

Anyway, I spent soooo many hours on this chapter and I'm not sure how it turned out so plis lemme know what you make of it. Share your thoughts. Comments make me happy and a happy writer types faster :P

This chapter is dedicated to @caroline4456 whose praises for Lut Gaye I received in the form of sweet letters - by the one who loves her with all his heart. (Totally shipping you guys btw haha)

Alsooooo, if you guys wanna see Zain, Iman, Haider and other characters, follow me on Instagram @_zinu13

The next chapter is titled: Burnin' Moonlight and you bet it's gonna buuuuuuuuurn. So, look forward to it.

I'll see you soon. Have faith in me plis :')